


You Are

by MidnightMinx90



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Arranged Marriage, Blow Jobs, Canon Het Relationship, Circle Mage Bethany Hawke, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Pre-Chantry Sebastian, Slash, Smut, Templar Carver Hawke, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-19
Updated: 2017-05-02
Packaged: 2018-04-10 04:50:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4377818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MidnightMinx90/pseuds/MidnightMinx90
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arranged Marriage!AU</p><p>Leandra Hawke made an arrangement with the Vael family to marry her eldest daughter, Arabella Hawke, to the youngest of the Vael boys, Sebastian Vael.<br/>Unbeknownst to all, Sebastian and Arabella meet by chance and spends every night together for nine days before circumstance moves them apart, but not before they fall in love.</p><p>What will happen when they're introduced, deciding to pretend they hate one another on principle, as to not raise suspicion as to why they're suddenly okay getting married when they have both vehemently denied wanting to do so from the start?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Star of Each Night

**Author's Note:**

> Well, maybe not FULLY AU, but this is based on Leandra taking her children to Kirkwall after the death of her husband, moving into their Hightown estate, raising the Hawke siblings to a life of a noble.
> 
> -
> 
> Hawke's full name is Arabella Ardelia Hawke, after a Queen named Arabella Ardelia (nicknamed Lia) from Anne Bishop's book The Invisible Ring

Arabella often finds herself wondering about how different things would have turned out had her mother not taken her, Bethany and Carver back to Kirkwall after the death of their father.

 

Would they have a less restricted life under the open sky in Lothering or somewhere else? Would they have survived the Blight ravaging the town they used to call home, or would they have perished with it? Would Bethany be in the Circle or hiding from Templars, and would Carver be a Templar or guard or something else entirely?

 

She stares down into her drink – her fifth thus far this night – knowing there’s no point in dwelling on what might have been. Bethany is in the Circle and Carver a Templar to be; not long until he’ll take his final vows. Her siblings are doing well according to their letters, few as they are and far in-between.

 

Arabella envies her siblings sometimes, and tonight in particular. Being the eldest of the Hawke/Amell family means she has responsibilities, and they’re even more important to her mother because it’s highly unlikely her brother and sister will ever have children. Carver can’t become a Templar unless he takes vows of celibacy – not that she could ever envision her brother finding a woman willing to hold out with his personality – and unless he manages to leave the order – which she highly doubts – there will be no children born to carry the name Hawke.

 

Bethany being in the Circle is not so different, but there is no chance of marriage, no chance of her being able to or allowed to raise her own children, especially if one or more turn out to be mages.

 

And so it’s up to her, as the eldest Hawke and daughter of Leandra Amell to carry on the legacy of her house and name. Sometimes she wonders if Bethany have it easier, as being a mage means no respectable family with any money in southern Thedas is willing to marry her because of her gift. Curse, more like, in this city.

 

She downs her drink, dreading to return to her mother to be scolded like a child for running away at the mention of something she doesn’t want.

 

When Leandra had approached her and said she had arranged a marriage with the ruling family of Starkhaven for Arabella to marry Sebastian Vael – the youngest of three sons – Arabella had had enough of her mother’s interfering.

 

Arabella can’t see why the match would help the Vael family at all – after all they have the heir and the spare – so there really should be no point in having the youngest married off – even if to seal an alliance with another noble house. As far as she knows, the youngest and unruliest were sent off to the Chantry to be kept out of the way, but still close at hand to serve the family and show their faith to the world.

 

There were rumours circulating, of course, that the youngest Vael had been sent away from Starkhaven in order for someone to try and calm him down before he ruined his family’s reputation for good.

 

 _And they had to think of my family_ , Arabella thinks grimly, wondering if she’ll have time for another drink before she goes home to the inevitable scolding. _She means well, but how can she expect me to do what she did not?_

 

That Leandra had run away with Malcolm, betrothed as she had been to the Comte de Launcet, and still expected her eldest daughter to marry someone she had never met and barely heard of seems odd to Arabella.

To think her mother almost became a Comtesse, and instead ran off with an apostate and thought herself forever isolated from the life she had grown up with and the benefits that came with it.

Still, there is no guarantee that financial stability would have made her mother happier, despite hard years trying to raise three children and having to watch out for Templars who might come after her husband and youngest daughter as soon as Bethany had started showing signs of the gift their father had.

 

She gets up from her seat at the counter and grabs her sword to leave – can’t be too careful being a noble in Lowtown – and she’s almost out the door when she slams into something. _Big, hard, leather_ her mind registers before she looks up into the bluest eyes she’s ever seen. _I could drown in those and bless the Maker for my death_ , she thinks.

 

“You alright lass?” the man with the eyes asks, and she’s too gone to register his accent at first or what it was he asked her.

“Huh?” _Bravo, Hawke, you sound so eloquent_.

“Sure you didn’t have too much to drink?”

“Oh. I’m fine, just lost…” She trails off, eyes never moving from those impossibly blue eyes; eyes that now crinkle, surrounded by laugh lines and framed by dark lashes.

 

There’s a mischievous light in those eyes now, but not the bad kind, not the kind that used to appear in the eyes of the male patrons of the pub when they looked at her. Well, at least before she drew her sword and proved she was not one you’d trifle with.

 

She finds she quite like those eyes, wouldn’t mind staring into them forever.

 

“You don’t seem very lost to me, my dear.” Oh. He smirks, and then his accents catches up to her muddied brain, and she curses herself under her breath for her own mix of accents.

 

_Don’t stop talking. Don’t stop looking at me._

 

“You want me to keep talking?”

 

Oh shit. She’d said that aloud.

 

“You don’t happen to know if there’s a wall somewhere that I can bang my head against? Repeatedly?”

 

He laughs at that, and it’s the most wonderful sound she’s ever heard in her life. So open and wholehearted, so warm, so different from the polite, unfeeling laughs amongst the nobles.

 

“Well, there doesn’t seem to be a lack of walls, but wouldn’t you prefer to bang it against a headboard? Or your whole body against a mattress?”

 

It takes her every ounce of willpower left not to let her jaw drop open at his words, to not gawk at him or drop her sword in surprise and attract the attention of everyone in the room.

Blue Eyes’ tone is teasing, but there’s a deep warmth too, a dark warmth that lets her know he’s serious, that he’d take her upstairs and have his way with her, if she want to, if she lets him.

 

And oh, isn’t that just what she needs right now. A man between her thighs, her nails on his back, her eyes staring into his and his voice at her ear, speaking filthy things to her… A chance to get her mind off of things, just for an hour. Or five.

 

“There are rooms upstairs,” she manages to get out, her voice low and raspy.

 

There is a slight surprise on his face, quickly hidden. _Didn’t think I would agree this quickly?_

Arabella gets a key from Corff and _almost not quite_ runs up the stairs, the stranger’s had in hers, guiding him to the room.

 

His mouth is on hers before the door is properly shut, and her mind works just enough to make her lock it. _Oh. That tongue of his._ She’s not lacked for kisses and partners of either gender, but this man, this stranger she doesn’t even know the name of…  She moans, knees weak, sword discarded on the ground, only standing because of his arms holding her tight against him.

 

He turns then, slams her into the wall, and she jumps and hooks her legs around his waist. His hands move to bury themselves in her hair, pulling, and _oh so good, more please don’t stop!_

It’s only when he moves his mouth to kiss and nip at her neck that she realises she needs to breathe, tries to will her body to breathe, to work, to not let her pass out under that clever tongue.

 

“Taste so good. So responsive, so warm, such pretty sounds.” _You’re the one making the pretty sounds, not me. Talk more, please, never stop._

 

“Bed,” she somehow manages to growl out.

He grins at her, so naughty, those blue eyes so dark and heavy lidded and she feels proud that _she did this_.

 

He throws her down on the bed and strips out of his black leather clothing in an instant and _oh Maker, he’s not wearing any smallclothes!_

Arabella admires the view of his body – tan, long panes of muscle, his arms that of an archer, and his cock, standing almost straight up and to the left _and look at that he’s shaved_.

 

But then he’s on top of her, almost tearing her clothes to pieces in his haste and she tries to help him as best ask she can, unfastening clasps barely enough to be able to _take it off._

 

And then she’s naked and his head is between her legs, his hands are on her inner thighs, then her hips, moving stroking, tickling, pinching. His mouth teases her, never quite where she wants it to be, needs it to be and she’s moaning and panting and _Maker please!_

 

“Please what?” He asks, hot breath fanning over her, making her hips buck up to chase the sensation.

“Take me! Eat me, have your way with me, now!” She might have been ashamed of herself if not for the alcohol, but she’s too far gone, too hot, too wet, and too needy to give a shit.

 

“As the lady commands,” he replies and before she has time to wonder if he knows she’s a _Lady_ , his tongue is at her mound, licking up, and then his entire mouth is on her, a finger inside her and she tries to buck up, but one of his arms is across her waist, holding her down, restricting her movements.

Then the tongue joins the finger inside her and she moans and writhes on her bed and “don’t stop, never stop!”

 

It feels so good, that tongue of his, and the now two fingers inside her that she almost cries from sheer pleasure. She’s only had one other person go down on her before, but nothing can compare to this, to _that tongue_. And Maker, she might just perish from this alone but she can’t find it in her to care, because _what a way to go_.

She’s so wet and warm, and the heat is sinking low in her stomach and she’s moment way from cresting, when the mouth disappears, replaced by three fingers inside her and the mouth is now on hers and she can taste herself, mixed with his taste and alcohol and spices.

And then his fingers find the perfect angle inside her, stroking against her inside while his thumb stokes her clit and his mouth moves from hers so they can breathe, and then she moves her head so she can bite down on his shoulder as she comes, her walls clenching around his fingers, still moving inside her.

 

She suspects she might have blacked out for a moment, and when she opens her eyes, the man is kneeling on the bed beside her, stroking himself with the hand that was inside her moments ago, using her fluids to wet himself. His head is thrown back, mouth open, and she just looks at him, at the marvel of a man so at ease in her company, even after exchanging almost no words and only having laid eyes on the other person less than an hour ago.

 

Since he can’t see her, Arabella reaches out to place a hand on his thigh, and then she turns so she’s in front of him on her hands and knees. Her tongue darts out and licks at his tip, and the strangled sound that escapes his mouth sounds like heaven to her.

 

Arabella moves his hand out of the way, and takes almost his whole length down in one slide, tasting herself on him. Another low, guttural sound escapes him, his head dropping forward, eyes open, locking with hers.

She moans around him, and then swallows.

 

Before she has time to react, he’s pulled his dick out of her mouth and pushed her down on the bed on her stomach.

He grabs a pillow and put in under her waist, grabs her shirt and ties her hands to the bedpost and _oh yes I like this_.

 

He’s back on top of her in no time, cock lined up against her, the tip teasing her, not quite at her entrance.

 

“Get. In. Me.”

“Don’t tell me I’ll have to gag you as well? Because I so do like hearing those sounds of yours.” That shuts her up, until a moan escapes her when he pushes in to the hilt in one motion. He pulls almost all the way out again, then in, until he finds a rhythm, his hand holding her hips, bruising her, _not that I mind, I love this feeling, love him claiming me._ A voice in the back of her head tells her she shouldn’t think like that about a man she only just met and might never see again, but she ignores it.

 

He feels so good inside her, so perfect, filling her up and making her feel like something else, not a tool to secure her family’s future or a shadow looming over her brother. Tonight, with him, she’s just Bella, not Hawke or Arabella or Arabella Ardelia; tonight she’s just a woman like any other.

 

His movements get rougher, more erratic, the sound now filled with the slap of sweaty skin against sweaty skin, filled with broken off moans and curses in her own tongue and one she doesn’t understand.

She shifts her hips slightly, and then he hits her _right there_ two times, three, and then she’s crying out for the second time that night, biting into the bedcovers to muffle her sounds, straining against her restraints, and then he slams into her, five, six, seven times and he too screams out, in a language she doesn’t know, doesn’t understand, mixed with “oh Maker, yes!”

 

Blue Eyes barely manages not to collapse on top of her, instead pulling out and lying on his side beside her, freeing her hands from the restraints, rubbing at the red skin caused by chafing.

 

“Are you okay, my dear?” _I’ll be okay forever if you keep calling me that._

She tries to answer but find her voice fails her, so she just smiles at him in the way only a person well spent after sex can do.

“Like the cat that ate the canary,” he says, voice filled with laughter, eyes twinkling. _Stay here and laugh with me forever_.

 

“I should probably go. Mother must be getting worried,” she says, realising the truth of her words, that Leandra is probably sitting awake at the estate, wondering if she’ll be home safe or not come home at all. _Ask me to stay and I shall_.

“You’re quite right, you should not leave you mother worrying. I’m sure she’s waiting for you to return safely.”

 

She tries to pretend she’s not disappointed, that it’s all for the best that she leaves before she makes a fool of herself and asks him if they’ll meet again. _Pull yourself together, Bella. You’re not some lovesick puppy, not like that mabari of yours when you first found him._

She tries to not make anything of the strange sound of his voice that she can’t quite understand. _Is he as disappointed as me? Did he hope I would stay longer?_

 

Arabella gets dressed and grabs her sword, throwing some money on the bed as she’s about to turn around to leave, not quite sure how to say goodbye.

He saves her from worrying though, taking her hand in his, hot breath ghosting over her knuckled before he brings it to his lips for a brief kiss that looks chaste but feels like anything but.

 

She run home to her mother, apologising over and over again, her mother’s wrinkled hand stroking her cheek, telling her it’s okay “but don’t do it again, Lia.”

“I won’t.”

 

Arabella knows it’s not a promise she can keep, already making plans for how she can leave the house the next night to go back to the Hanged Man in hopes of seeing the blue eyed man with the warmest laugh and most enticing voice she’s ever met.

 

\---

 

It goes on for over a week, every night, almost from dusk ‘til dawn. They never talk, never exchange full names, anything that might reveal who they are. He calls her Bella, but gives no name in return, so she calls him Blue Eyes in her mind.

 

They never _sleep_ together, at least not more than a couple hours to get some rest between the sex, and both have to sneak back to their respective dwellings before anyone notices they’re gone.

 

Some nights they’re more rushed, using the other to take out frustration, bruising one another, but never in places that are visible, not after the bite-mark Arabella left on him the first night. Others are slower, where they take care of the other person, drawing it out until it seems more like love-making than anything else. Others yet again are both; the sweet following the harsh once they’ve taken out the frustration.

 

Arabella knows it will happen, of course, but when he’s not showed up for three nights in a row, she accepts that she’ll never see her blue eyed Prince Charming again.  

 

\---

 

If she only knew how wrong she was.


	2. The Brightness of Every Morning

Sebastian feels lost, completely and utterly lost in a way he’s never been before.

 

He aches when he thinks about the woman he’s been with for the past eight nights, the woman he’ll return to see again one last time, one last night.

Sebastian never thought he’d ever fall in love with one person; always thought he’d be forced to settle down, to marry some high-born woman he’d have nothing in common with except circumstance of birth, and to have children with traits he couldn’t possibly care less about.

 

But now he’s gone, he’s lost, he’s fallen and he can’t stop thinking about Bella. About the feeling of her long dark hair between his fingers, on his cheeks, fanned out on the pillow besides him; or the feeling of her soft, pale skin, the scent of it when he buries his face between her breasts, in the crook of her neck, the inside of her thighs. He loves the sounds she makes; her laughter, her moans and the way she screams both out loud and into his mouth and skin. He loves the way her body reacts to his touch, both above and below and around him, how her body responds perfectly to his and how his own reacts to her sounds, her laughter, her fingers, her mouth, her sex.

 

Sebastian spends all his days distracted, trying not to think about her, if she’ll be there again the following night, if she’s waiting for him, hot and wet and warm, just for him. It’s hard not to let his mind wander too much or too far, hard not to let those thoughts visibly affect his body.

 

Even harder to contain are the thought he’s never had about anyone else, ever before. _Will she tell me who she is? Will she spend the entire night with me and let me wake her up by kissing her good morning? Will she let me take her out; spend entire days with me, not just nights hidden away?_

He knows he can’t, knows that because of his status, nothing can ever come of this forbidden whatever-it-is. And because he’s betrothed to a woman he knows only as Ardelia Hawke, eldest daughter of Leandra Amell.

 

Sebastian even knows more of the mother and younger siblings; that Leandra had ran away in her youth with an apostate, and that the son is a Templar in training and the youngest daughter is in the Circle. He knows they grew up in Ferelden, that they came in with the refugees and that they got money somehow, though he’s yet to learn how they managed to get enough to get the estate back.   
  
Although he’s heard the name Hawke on the lips of the dwarf that lives in the Hanged Man, he refuses to believe that the eldest daughter of the noble Amell family, that a woman like that could possibly be the very Hawke whose name seems attached to various – exaggerated – stories that flows through the city.  
  
Not that it matters anyways. It should, since he’ll be married into the family. It hits him the night before he’s to meet them for the first time that he’ll have to live in the house with her. Sebastian can’t imagine living in Kirkwall, not with the troubles with qunari and all the rumours circulating around the Knight Commander and her treatment of the mages.   
  
Still, Sebastian knows he needs to be courteous to the family, no matter his feelings about this whole ordeal, or his family will send him to another place, another family, to another wife-to-be and he’ll not see Bella again. So he’ll play his role, and then return to Bella’s side at night, as long as she’ll have him, whether he’s married or not.   
  
\---  
  
He’s had to stay away for three nights, three agonizing nights he’s spent wanting to escape the watchful eyes of his entourage, sent with him to “keep him out of trouble.”  
  
But the night before he’s to meet his betrothed, Sebastian is able to leave for an entire night, not caring if his family will hear about this or not. He doubts it though, because that would mean his watchers would admit to his family just how bad they are at their jobs.   
  
Being with Bella that last night feels different, and it feels like she’s distant. Just like he feels, but Sebastian knows there’s no use talking about it, telling her that things will change after this. Even when he’s buried deep inside her and she screams out as she clenches around him it feels as though they’re saying good-bye without uttering the words.   
  
When morning breaks and she slips out of the bed she stops him from saying a single word with a simple look, and then she’s gone.   
  
To Sebastian it feels as though she’s taken a piece of him with her.   
  
  
\---  
  
The next evening, Sebastian slowly makes his way to the Amell estate, feeling as though each footfall upon the flagstones brings him one step closer to the end of his life. To distract himself, he thinks of Bella, of the way she looked when they first met, the way she couldn’t stop herself from uttering her own thoughts or look away from his face.   
  
He’s so engrossed in his thoughts that when the door opens and Leandra looks at him he thinks there’s something familiar about her, about that particular colour of her eyes, but he’s still distracted by his thoughts of Bella and so he stares at the woman who is to be his mother-in-law for a good while before he gathers himself and his thoughts enough to introduce himself.   
  
“Lady Amell, I presume? I am prince Sebastian Vael. Such a delight to meet you.” He bows to her, as he would to any noble of her rank. Leandra in turn curtsies and takes a step to the side, allowing him inside the estate.   
  
“Why don’t we wait in the library? Dinner will be served shortly but you should meet my daughter first.”   
  
Sebastian finds it apparent that this polite speech is not something she’s used to, but he holds back from making any comments on it. He might be the disappointment of the family, but it does not mean he’s rude.   
  
So he follows her into the library and takes a seat in front of the fire. An awkward silence fills the room; neither of them knowing what to speak of, but Sebastian manages to compliment the room, although the sculpture above the fireplace creeps him out.   
  
When several minutes have passed with not another word and no sign of Ardelia, Leandra excuses herself to go see to her daughter.  
  
Sebastian can hear muffled voices through the open doorway, followed seconds later by two sets of soft boots on the tiles. He gets up from the chair and mentally prepares himself to turn around and face to woman he’s to marry.


	3. The Story of Each Guest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Messere Vael, may I introduce my eldest daughter, Lady Arabella Ardelia Hawke.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am endlessly sorry that it took me well over a year to post another chapter to this story. I had started it and reached just over 500 words but inspiration left me. It's been a year minus ten/nine days since I last posted a fanfiction as I've only come up with ideas that never became more than that or a few notes, and I'm very slowly working on/planning an original work with a very dear friend of mine. But I have read your kind comments, and knowing you want me to continue and care enough to let me know that truly means a lot to me.

He had been dumbfounded when he had first laid eyes on Bella, no, Ardelia as her mother calls her. That the very person who had been with him night after night, the woman with the large sword and calloused hands would be the same woman as the one standing in front of him in the doorway to the library, looking every bit the fragile, sheltered daughter of a nobleman will never stop to surprise him.  
  
Gathering himself had been hard, so very hard because she was looking at him with the same surprise in her eyes, her face otherwise revealing nothing for fear her mother would find out.  
  
Dinner had been awkward at best, though not for the reason Leandra thought.

**\---**

“Messere Vael, may I introduce my eldest daughter, Lady Arabella Ardelia Hawke.”

Sebastian’s breath leaves him, his knees buckling and barely holding him up. It’s _her_! It’s Bella! It must be a trick of his mind, a dream or a spell. Surely it cannot be the woman whom he’s been with in secret for almost every night since his arrival in Kirkwall, can it?

 

Luckily for him, Leandra doesn’t seem to notice anything, her eyes on the elven servant to signal her it’s time for dinner.

Bella too, for her part, looks equally surprised, the way her eyes widen and her steps falter as she enters the room.

 

Oh, how he had wanted to rush to her, to embrace her! His heart soars at the prospect, to think that the woman he’s fallen hard and fast for is the one intended for him. That his family would find him a woman so capable, a woman clearly skilled with a sword based on her calloused hands, now covered with silk gloves to hide that very evidence.

 

Sebastian collects himself just in time. With Leandra watching, he bows in a practiced way, having had it beaten into him by his parents until he perfected how to bow to members of various standing.

He takes Bella’s outstretched hand, his lips hovering over the sheer fabric covering her skin. A jolt hits them both at the touch and Sebastian barely keeps his lips from touching the fabric as he kisses the air instead.

 

“A pleasure, Lady,” he says as he straightens, keeping his eyes locked with hers as he sees the affect his rumbling voice has on her. Stopping the smirk forming on his lips as he sees her barely-controlled shiver proves to be equally hard.   

 

“Shall we?” Leandra’s voice chimes in, breaking the spell. Sebastian inclines his head and offers his arm to Bella, which she accepts. Warmth seeps quickly through their layers of clothes and this time it’s Sebastian who shivers.

 

\---

 

The dinner is the most awkward one Sebastian’s had to suffer through in his entire life, and that is saying something. Leandra attempts small-talk, Bella is awfully quiet, and Sebastian awkwardly tries to reply to the questions asked him. He’s so focused on Bella and trying not to make it apparent that he is, that he several times misses what Leandra says. It seems luck is on his side however, and he doesn’t miss any important questions.

 

\---

 

“I do hope you will return for dinner again tomorrow,” Leandra says as she’s leading him to the door.

 

At first, Sebastian had been surprised by the lack of servants, with the exception of the elven girl. He learnt they had taken in two dwarves as well, but that they were not servants and that they otherwise managed perfectly fine on their own. Despite Leandra growing up rich and with servants and having returned to that lifestyle, she had spent most of her life being self-sufficient and did not require anyone to help her as long as she was still capable of doing it herself.

Sebastian found he admires her strength and the lack of shame at the confession. _Surely other nobles looks down on her and talks about her behind her back_ , he thinks.   _If only they knew she is stronger and better than they will ever be._

 

“I would be delighted, Lady Leandra.”

 

Sebastian had quickly learnt to call her Leandra or Lady Leandra rather than Lady Amell.

 

“We will be family soon enough, so no reason to be so formal,” she said, all the while refusing to call him anything but _messere_. “You were born a prince, and a prince you are. Your social standing is higher than mine, and so I will call you appropriately.”

 

“Good. Lia? Your fianceé is leaving. You haven’t forgotten your manners, have you?”

  
\---  
  
Sebastian rushes back to the Hanged Man after changing out of his finery, hoping desperately that Bella would be back, yet scared that what it will mean if she does turn up. At the same time, the thought of her not turning up is equally scary and when she walks through the door of the room they rent there his heart skips a beat then kicks back in hard and fast.  
  
To Sebastian’s surprise, nothing changed. She might be Ardelia to her mother, the kind daughter of a noblewoman during the day, but during the night she would continue to be his Bella, the woman who somehow managed to capture his heart in no time and seemed nothing like her daytime self.

 

They don’t fall into bed that night. Instead they talk about their situation, about what they can or should do.

“I can’t tell her, Sebastian. She doesn’t know about my coming here to drink. It’s difficult enough for her knowing there are days and nights when I’m gone fighting. That I’ve been here most nights, in bed with you would be too much.”

 

“Then what do you propose?” Sebastian scoffs at his choice of words, and it earns him a small chuckle from Bella too.

 

“That we keep up appearances. Two sides of the same coin. You come to dinner, we pretend to be barely civilized, then I sneak out, or leave under the pretence of having more bandits to fight, and meet you here. Mother knows the city depends on me, much as she hates to admit it.”

 

“I think you may be right, _a stor_. My parents also need to be kept in the dark. One more _mistake_ and they send me to the Chantry. It failed the first time, but there’s no guarantee they’ll not try again. If they find out, they will send me away again, to somewhere else, some _one_ else.”

 

She finally looks at him, into his eyes and he feels like he could get lost in them. He’s always been praised for his own eyes, for the vivid blue; _royal blue_ , as his parents proudly called the colour. As though he _chose_ the colour. But Bella’s eyes are the pretties Sebastian’s ever seen; green with specks of light brown, almost like honey.

 

“I should go,” she suddenly says, rising from the bed. “I told mother I would only get some fresh air to clear my head. She’ll worry if I don’t return soon.”

 

“Shall I escort you? I see you left your sword this time.” Bella looks surprised, as if she noticed only now that she left her weapon at home.

 

“I…” she seems to hesitate, to wonder if it’s a good idea. “I would like that.”

 

They stop in a small alcove, sheltered from prying eyes and Sebastian kisses her. He’s wanted to do so for so long, so he pours all his feelings into the kiss. Bella’s arms wrap around him quickly, holding him close.

It doesn’t take long for Sebastian’s body to react to having her in his arms, up against a wall as they’ve so often been. He regrets letting her leave the Hanged Man, wishes he’d talked her into staying, contemplating if he can convince her to return with him now, when a door opens and Leandra’s voice calls out for her daughter.

 

They jump apart, both looking around to see if anyone’s spotted them or is passing by, but they’re lucky once again.

 

“Shit. I need to go.”

 

Sebastian nods, then kisses her again, doing his best not to let the kiss linger. He knows she needs to go, but letting her do so is not easy.

 

“Tomorrow, after dinner?” he asks, and Bella nods in reply.

 

\---  
  
Sebastian takes her again the next night, again and again and again through the dark hours.   
  
Her body bruises under his firm, capable hands, as does his under her small, yet strong hands. She feels warm in his embrace, warm in a way that has nothing to do with the heat of their bodies together, but the rush of emotions, of what they are only allowed in the night.  
  
He teases her, brings her almost over, _so close, Sebastian, please, Maker, yes yes yes…_  
Her fingers rakes down his back, long red marks that almost but not quite makes him bleed, but she doubts he would care.   
In return he leaves marks on her breasts and inner thighs – careful to not make them visible lest her mother notice them.

  
\---

 

During the days, Sebastian comes to their home, both of them pretending to be barely civil, pretending they want nothing to do with one another. But at dinner things are different. Their legs tangle, his hand lifting up her dress to stroke the soft skin on the inside of her thigh that he marked only hours before. Her hand circle his upper thigh, the back of her gloved hand brushing against his member, feeling it twitch, out of his control.  
  
It makes Sebastian choke on his words, makes it harder for him to tell stories from his homeland and of his family – tales and legends he’s grown up with and stories from he was a child. What must Leandra think of him, not able to speak properly?   
  
At night, they flip the coin. Gone are the civil conversations, the clipped words and the barely controlled restraints keeping them apart.

 

Sebastian slides in and out of her body, slick with her want. Bella cries out his name, leaves marks on his body barely concealed by clothes. They embrace, kiss, touch, and learn the body of the other person.

 

Bella tells him of her friends and comrades-in-arms, the rag-tag family she’s built and their adventures. He learns not all of Varric’s stories are exaggerated and that he needs to stay clear of the dwarf lest he gives away certain aspects of their relationships. Sebastian tells her stories of the wild side of his upbringing, the stories he can’t possibly tell her at the dinner table with Leandra present. He tells her of his older brothers and their strict upbringing and expectations, and she tells him of her brother and sister, of growing up free but fearing their father and later on sister would be found out.

 

“They are both safe now. Carver is looking forward to taking his vows, and Bethany thrives in the Circle. She used to be scared, but it seems she’s found her place in the world, taking care of the younger members and learning magic openly rather that in secret and under constant fear of being discovered. I just hope they’ll never have to face one another in a battle or uprising.”

 

“My family was never tight-knit. My brothers received the proper training for ruling, while I was left in the dark, so-to-speak. With the heir and the spare, they had no use for me. My grandfather took me under his wing and taught me archery. I still have his bow.”

 

“I learnt how to use a sword from my father. He was never that good with it, but as the eldest child, I had to learn how to protect mother, Carver and Bethany should anything happen to father. He trusted me to kill him should he be possessed.”

 

Sebastian can hear the sadness in her voice, so he decides to stop the talk of sadness and loss.

 

“It’s alright, _a stor_. Let us cease this talk. Come now, _leannán,_ let’s think of something else. “

 

“Do you have something particular in mind?”

 

“Oh, I have some ideas,” he whispers, his voice dropping low, rumbling, as he starts kissing his way down her body. “I’m sure I can make you think of something else entirely.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A stor: Darling  
> Leannán: Lover


End file.
